Dragon Snot

This week's Friday Fictioneer's story is dedicated to PaPa Jim and Logan

Dragon Snot

“PaPa!” Logan shouted.  “He’s sick.”

“Who, Logan?”

“Snapple.”

Rather perplexed, PaPa Jim scratched his head.

“Who’s Snapple?”

“My dragon.”

“Oh,” PaPa said trying to hide his smile.  “I didn’t know you had a dragon.  Where does he live?

“In the woods.  We have to bring him gumdrops. He has a cold.”

Now, PaPa Jim loved Logan with all his heart so he decided to play along.  Side-by-side they walked into woods, a bag of gumdrops clutched firmly in Logan’s little hand.  But, alas, no Snapple.

“Maybe he’s sleeping,” PaPa said. “Let’s leave the candy by this tree and he can get it when he wakes up.  Do you think that would be ok?”

Disappointed, Logan sighed. “Ok.”

On the way to the house PaPa  asked, “Logan, how do you know Snapple has a cold?”

Logan walked  over to a rock and pointed at a gooey, icky glob.  “Yuck, what’s that?” PaPa asked.

“Dragon snot.”

Oh, of course.  Dragon snot.  He should’ve known.

Old Dog Learns New Tricks

I am a writer.

My dream of writing and getting a book published finally came true. Soldiers From the Mist (http://www.tinyurl.com/cd77w8b)  was released in March 2011 from the High Hill Press AND my second book, The Rook and The Raven (http://www.tinyurl.com/CSS92ud) was released from The Wild Rose Press February 2012.  Not only that, but I’m working on two more best sellers, The Legend of Dixie Dandelion and The Church of the Howling Moon.

The Rook and The Raven

Soldiers FromThe Mist

I was under the delusion that once I got a book published, I’d have it made in the shade.  Those royalty checks would roll in like the tide.  Movie producers would trample themselves getting to my front door.  I do lunch with Oprah and Ellen. I’d quit my day job.

Wrong!

I found out that writing a book is the easiest part of the writing game.  It’s what comes after “The End” that makes an author stark, raving loony tunes—Promotion! 

Big signing parties thrown by New York publishers are a thing of the past.  If you want to sell books and get everyone buzzing, you have to promote.  And where do you promote?  The Internet of course. 

Social media is fast becoming a four-letter word for me.  Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter, oh my!  Blogs, tweets, and posts, oh my! This old dog has to learn new tricks. 

OH MY!!!!!

It’s not that I’m a stupid dog, quite the contrary, I’m fairly intelligent.  I can rollover and sit up with the best of em’,  And speak? My bark demands respect. Nope, brains aren’t the problem.  So what’s wrong?  Why can’t I figure out how to add an author page to Facebook? Why do words such as link and pin cause cold sweat to run down the back of my neck?  Just what the car fur is wrong??????????????

Do you think it could possibly be my attitude that is causing this aversion to conquering the land of the Internet? 

Ok.  I can learn this social media crap. Just watch me. I’ll tweet with the birds and post with the . . .  the . . . well, whoever you post with.  I can do it.  I honestly can.  But first, I have to trot down to the store.

  I need a new box of milk bones!

BENCH LUNCH

This week's photo prompt from Madison Woods for Friday Fictioneers had me stumped unitl 1:00 in the morning when an idea popped into my head.  Here's what I came up with:

Two seagulls:  Gertrude and Heathcliff:

Heathcliff:   “I wonder who will be the first to sit on the bench today?”

Gertrude:     “Oh, I do hope it’s the bag lady.  She always shares her bread with us.”

Heathcliff:     “If that mama brings her two brats to play, I’m leaving.  Those kids like to chase me."

Gertrude (chuckling):  Now, dear, boys will be boys.”

Heathcliff:      “A tweak from my beak in their seat would stop such foolishness.”

Gertrude:       “Maybe that elderly couple will sit in the sunshine and hold hands later. (Sigh) So romantic."

Heathcliff (nuzzling her neck):   “Just like us, me amour.”

Gertrude: (preening her feathers)   “Oh, Heath, you know how I get when you speak French.”

Heathcliff:       “French!  Suzie Secretary likes to sit on the bench and eat lunch from McDonalds.  French  fries today, baby.”

Gertrude: (disgusted)   “Is food all you think about?”

Heathcliff:        “I’m a bird, Gert. Get over it."

DON'T BE A SINNER!

Jean Louise Finch aka Scout

My all time favorite movie, To Kill a Mockingbird is on TV tonight.  I’ll watch it for what must be the 100th time and love the experience as if it were my first.

To Kill a Mockingbird was the first picture show I remember going to.  Mama loved Gregory Peck and since, in those days, kids went everywhere with their parents, she dragged me and my brother with her to see the movie.  I was in grade school and didn’t understand everything that was going on, but there in the darkness of that theater with the scent of popcorn heavy in the air, the first character I wanted to portray someday was Scout.  

A few years later, in Junior High, I read the book and it became my all time favorite novel.  The movie was great, but the book was awesome.  Scout came to life.  I laughed with her, cried with her, and walked that long, dark scary pathway home in that stupid ham outfit with her. 

In High School drama class I did a reading from To Kill a Mockingbird for an assignment.  Of course I was Scout.  I walked in her shoes.  I pulled her skin on and transformed into a spunky little southern tomboy who loved her daddy more than anything in the world.  I got an A+ and was called Scout until I graduated.   I loved it.

To Kill a Mockingbird has so many messages.  It’s the love of a little girl for her daddy, the coming of age story with Jem, the cruelty of poverty, the tragedy of ignorance and racism, the courage to stand for what is right, and above all, compassion and understanding for your fellow man. 



Boo



My all time favorite line in the movie was when Scout said “Hey Boo.”  Those two little words delivered from the lips of an innocent yet wise-beyond -her-years little girl make tears spring to my eyes every time I hear them.

Atticus Finch had it right.  “It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

A bigger sin would be not to watch the movie on its 50^th anniversary. 

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.   Read it!

DECEPTION AT SUNRISE

Madison's prompt for this week's flash fiction gave me the chills.  Everyone has a dark side. Today I let mine come out to play.

I’m under here.  Can you hear my cries?

Dead.  Murdered.

“Meet me at daybreak,” he said.

Tall.  Dark. Handsome.  I ran away to be with him. To live happier ever after.

But no.

In the dim light of early dawn he held me, not wrapped in his loving arms but under the water instead.

Doomed for eternity to watch the sun rays weave through the trees and spread across the forest floor like warm butter.

I hate butter.

I hate sunrise.  

MOONSHINER'S RUN

This is Madison's picture for this week's Friday Fictioneers. Every thing has heart.  Just ask Ol' Blue.



Ol' Blue

       

           "Step on it, Bobby Lee!  Them Revenuers ain't fur behind. 'Jest one last run,' that's what ya said.

“Hesh up,” Bobby Lee said and patted the dash.   “Ain’t nothing sitting on four tires can catch Ol’ Blue.”

“Why ya always talking like this piece of junk has a heart?”   

“I warning ya, cousin. Don’t talk agin’ Blue like that.  She’s sensitive.”

“It ain’t alive!  It’s just a bucket of bolts.”

The engine died.  Never to run again.  

Deep in the woods Ol’ Blue sits with a broken heart, never to finish the last moonshiner’s run.

KISS

This week's flash fiction promt by Madison Woods streached my imgination.  What kind of story can I write? No words came. Only silence.  And then, in the quiet, came the thought,  "Keep it simple, stupid!"
I love KISS, so here is my story for this week and Madison's magical picture prompt:

          Very few things in life are black and white.  Simple. Mankind loves to complicate the easy, to improve on the basic.   But Mother Nature, in all her wisdom, reminds us that there is great beauty to behold in simple black and white:



The Skunk



Dalmatians.

 

The Moon

The Crow



The Dove

The balance of the positive and the negative working together in harmony, the wisdom in keeping things simple, results in beautiful magic.

BLAME IT ON MERCURY

MERCURY

Ever wonder why computers won’t boot-up?  Data is lost in cyber space? Cell phones drop messages? Appointment times and dates are missed?  The contract signed yesterday is not what is presented today?  Past issues thought to be resolved resurface?   Blame it on Mercury.

Mercury controls communication.

Years ago messages from one ruler to another or between armies were carried by “heralds” who demanded great respect and weren’t to be harmed.  The Roman god, Hermes was the fastest of these messengers.   Because the planet, Mercury is the swiftest moving across the skies, Hermes is otherwise known as Mercury. He wears wings on his cap and sandals.  

Now, the gods like to mess with humans just for the fun of it and to have something to do.  So every once in awhile Mercury shows off and runs backwards.  In the astrology world this is called moving, retro.  When this happens, things connected with communications can get hinky.  It’s advised not to sign contracts or to buy anything having to do with communications such as computers, TV’s, phones, etc. etc. until Mercury decides to behave himself and runs forward or direct.

Often when Mercury is retro, he likes to throw-up things from the past in our faces to take a second look at.  And to make things even more interesting, Mercury likes to run backwards a lot.

Mercury went retro March 12 and will not move direct until April 4^th, give or take a few days.  

There can be advantages to Mercury being in retro, however.   The next time your spouse says, “Honey, you didn’t tell me your mother was coming to stay with us for a week,”  you can smile innocently and say:

"Blame it on Mercury!"

    

SHE LOVED ME

It's been awhile since I've written a story for Madison Wood's Friday Fictioneers.  Sorry about that.  I love this picture and here is my story:

           “Howdy.  My name’s Shep.  That’s my mistress over there playing on the swing.   

She loves me.

When I was a pup, she dressed me up like a doll and put ribbons in my hair.  The cat wondered why I allowed her to degrade me so.  I had three words for that fur ball.

She loves me.

She sneaks table scraps to me at supper time.  And lets me sleep on her bed at night.  Her mom always asks, Why?  She just shrugs.  But I know.

She loves me.

I vow to always watch over her.  To be there waiting when she steps off the school bus.  I’ll let her bury her head in my fur and cry when Tommy McGuire breaks her heart, to lick the tears from her face and wag my tail in understanding.

And, one day, I will die saving her.

Why?

Because she loved me."

The Oneness

My writing buddy, Jan Morrill, aka Gypsy/Samurai Jan, has written the next New York Times Best Seller and Tony Award winning play, Broken Dolls.   Broken Dolls is a touching, powerful story about the treatment of Japanese/Americans during World War II told through the eyes of nine year old, Sachi Kimura.  In the story, Sachi, her mother, and brother, Nobu are internees held at Rohwer, Arkansas.  

In real life, George Takei (Mr. Sulu on Star Trek) was interned at Rowher.



George Takei



Universe works her magic in strange and mysterious ways.  When Jan heard that Mr. Takei was performing with the Little Rock Symphony last weekend, she immediately took this as a sign to meet Mr. Takei and speak to him about Broken Dolls.  She invited me to come along for the adventure.

Alas, even though George stood only three feet away of us, Jan wasn’t able to talk to him.  But.  Do not despair. Jan’s bold energy surrounded George Takei and set into motion a series of events that must manifest.  It’s called the Law of Attraction.  Only positive things will come from this back yard meeting.

Now for the rest of the story:

When I was in elementary school and junior high, I played the violin in the school’s orchestra.  I was also a member of the Fayetteville High School A Cappella choir and performed in many concerts. I’m an actress as well. (Hard to believe I’m a drama queen, isn’t it?)  I majored in drama at the University of Arkansas and acted in several school plays as well as the Rogers Little Theatre.  It had been quite awhile however since I attended any kind of a performance and years since hearing a symphony. 

I had forgotten the excitement.

I had forgotten the power of a collective consciousness.

Back stage at a play is chaos—makeup, costumes, runaway nerves, high energy straining at the reins to break loose and manifest.  The heavy curtains shut the audience off from this corralled wildness.  Everything seems calm out front but back stage actors run amok.  

Until . . .

The director speaks.

The overture begins.

Actors settle. Calmness seeps through every pore and melts the panic. Magic happens. An unexplainable yet wonderful Oneness unites everyone into a collective consciousness aimed at giving the best performance possible.

Before a symphony, the Wood-Winds tune up, the Strings run scales, drums emit a low thunder, horns blare, the four-hundred person chorus files in, laughter, noise. Mass confusion reigns.

Until . . .

The Conductor steps onto the podium.

The silence is deafening.

Every eye is trained on one person.  The baton he holds becomes a magic wand that unites hundreds of people into one collective consciousness working toward the same goal.  

The result is overwhelming.

This Oneness happens in sports as well.  Ever watch a football team warm up?  Men running everywhere.  No rhyme or reason to what they’re doing.  Confusion.

Until . . .

The Quarterback brings them to the line of scrimmage.

The Oneness takes over.   

The power of a collective consciousness is overwhelming.  Think of the possibilities.  If for one second, every mind united and concentrated all energy toward the same goal, sickness could be healed, famine destroyed, struggle and strife, gone.  Peace and love would rule.  

It would only take one second to change the world into paradise.  One second!

Maybe that’s why plays, symphonies, sports, and the like attract so many people.  Subconsciously we are looking for that director, quarterback, or conductor.  After all, it’s only natural.  

 

            We were created by a supreme Oneness.

The Crazy Glue of Life

I have a confession to make: I want to fix things.

Not such things as broken clocks, flat tires, or mistakes in manuscripts. Nope, repairing these things would be easy compared to what I want to mend.  I want to patch up broken hearts, renovate low self-esteem, refurbish the downtrodden, heal physical and mental sickness, glue the pieces of a broken world back—to put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Pretty tall order, isn’t it? 

Fixing things is in my genes.   Daddy was an electrician by trade. He fixed the dark. My brother, Wild Turkey Jim, is also an electrician and brings light into the world every day.  He has the ability to repair almost anything that doesn’t work.

Mama could mend sadness with just a hug.

So, as you can see, my desire to repair humanity comes naturally.  But, alas, I stink at it.

I don’t know how to make a broken heart whole again.  Have no clue what magic words can make someone believe in themselves. I don’t have a witchy spell that will cure the insane.   No secret formula for paste strong enough to bond the broken pieces of a shattered world together again. 

Some philosophers would say it’s not my job, my responsibly to repair the world.  That each individual must take responsibility for their own actions.  These so called “wise men” argue that it’s taboo to interfere with another’s destiny, how else will mankind learn if someone else cleans up their messes?  I agree.  But . . .

It ain’t working!

This weekend I pondered a lot on this dilemma of how to fix the world and one word kept coming to me:  friendship.

The power and gratitude for friends can mend a cracked heart, eliminate the feeling of worthlessness and plug the holes in our head. 

Strong, sincere friendship is the crazy glue that holds us together with an impermeable seal.

I love and give thanks for my friends.  Without them I would be lost. Joined together in previous life times or in only this one, they keep me sane with their honesty, non-judgmental ways, humor, wisdom, and downright silliness.

And that is how I plan to heal the world.

            One good friend at a time.



The Sisterhood



I DARE YOU TO WISH APON A STAR

Okay, it’s been awhile since I’ve ranted and raved, but something happened last week that I can’t get out of my head.

A writing colleague of mine read a story to my critique group, (The Northwest Arkansas Writer’s Workshop) titled, Butterfly and Frog.  The story is an entry for “The Picture Book” category for the Oklahoma Writers Federation Inc. conference in May. 

Of course it’s no surprise that this is a children’s story about the unlikely friendship of a butterfly and a frog that live together in a wonderful garden filled with flowers, a pond, and lily pads.     

Brenda Black weaved a tale of beauty, the power of friendship, and the simplicity of life in 750 words.  As she read, my mind’s eye could see little children wrapped in Sponge Bob Square Pants p.j’s snuggled deep in their beds while mom or dad sat beside them reading and turning the big pages of the book.  Each page, painted in brilliant colors of the rainbow, told of the adventures of the unlikely friends. Each page drew the child into the Land of Nod and Make Believe.  

I loved it.

Now, here’s the problem.  While the members of the group loved the story, they didn’t believe.  They couldn’t let themselves go, lose themselves in fantasy.  They wanted the story to be logical.  

What a shame.  

I shook my head in pity and shot my mouth off about their lack of imagination, even called one guy Mr. Spock.  I shouldn’t have been so harsh. The world in general has lost the innocence of childhood and the ability to dream. No wonder it’s in the shape that it is.

Does everything have to make sense?  Where is trust?  Faith? Tinker Bell and Peter Pan?

My new paramormal roamance, The Rook and the Raven is due to be released on February 8 from The Wild Rose Press.  Here is what one review said:

If you let go of all ideas that are logical, and let yourself fall into this story, it
is truly beautiful. It’s interesting, funny and HOT. The Characters will make
you laughter, and bring you to tears. Beautiful fantasy story, just let yourself believe!

Notice the words, “if you let go of all ideas that are logical” and “just let yourself believe.”

In 2012 I challenge the Spocks of the world to let go.  Dare the non-believers to take a leap of faith. I encourage all the Brenda Blacks and R.H.Burketts to keep on writing about butterflies, frogs, rooks, and ravens.

There’s a beautiful land waiting, “first star to the right and straight on till morning.”  All you have to do is wish apon a star!"

The Legend of Dixie Dandelion

My fire-fighting friend, Gypsy Jan posted this picture on her blog,  (Jan Morrill's Thoughts Over Coffee. blogspot.com.)  It was inspired from a real-life experience that hit close to home for Dixie.
Over 150 years ago, Dixie Dandelion fought a similar battle.  Here is her story:

Fire!

The horses! Had to save the horses!

Without thought or hesitation, I ran toward the fledging flames, peeling off my buckskin jacket as I ran. The tanned leather wouldn’t catch fire, would be heavy enough to smother the embers.  But the wind whipped the sparks into frenzy.  Flames danced an evil, mocking tune.  They licked my boots, pulled my pants leg, sneered and laughed at my desperation.   

I flogged the beast with the coat. Frantic.  The barn twisted and yelled for help in the grips of a violent death struggle.   Oh, God!  The horses! Slaughtered!  Who would do such a thing?

Lips cracked from the heat, stealing my spit.  Eyes blurred and burned from the smoke. All around me the smell of burning grass and wood.  Unwillingly I drank the scent in, throat raspy and rough, coughed up black soot.  

A shadow loomed beside me stomping at the flames.  Who?  Didn’t matter. Thank God I wasn’t alone.

Inky’s booming voice outshouted the roar of  blood in my ears.  “They’s free, Miss Dixie.  They’s free.”

I heard the mares gallop past, the frightened whinnies of their colt’s right behind them.  Safe. All safe.

The shadow grabbed my arm, pulled me away.  No! I fought against his firm grasp.  Had to save the barn! 

“It’s too late, lassie.”

I struggled against Big Mike’s meaty arms when he pinned me against his big barrel chest. Tears sizzled on my cheeks.  I cried at my helplessness to stop the snapping beast from devouring wood, nails, hay, and leather. One last death rattle and the barn’s scorched shoulders folded and collapsed to the dirt.  

Dead.

Anger deep inside my belly hollered and fed unknown strength into exhausted muscle and bone.  I ripped loose from Big Mike and stormed the cabin.  My hands shook as I buckled the 45 around my waist and grabbed the rifle from above the fire place.  Those son-of-a-bitches! I’d kill every one of them.

Big Mike caught my arm as I tore past. 

“Ya can’t shoot them all, lassie.  Let it go.”

I whirled and stared at his ruddy face.

“Let it go!  Are you loco?  They burned down my goddamn barn!”

“Let Jackson handle it lass. Don’t take the law into your own hands.”

“Jackson?”  I sputtered.  “Jackson?”

I kicked at him and screamed.  “Jackson ain’t here, remember? He rode away.  Just like he always does.   Just like that day on the wagon train. Rode away and left me to fight off Whitaker. Alone.  Always alone.”

“Dixie!”

And there he was.  Bigger than life. Stepping down from his gallant black stallion like a knight returning from some far-off crusade.  Long legs ate up the ground between us and he grabbed my forearms.  My heart quickened as the look of worry and concern inched across his chiseled face.

“Damn it, woman!"  He growled.  “Just say the words!”  

 He dropped his arms.  The heat from his stare withered my courage and my heart.

            “I keep waiting, Dixie.  But ya never say them.  Ya never once just say, ‘Stay.’”

THE ROOK AND THE RAVEN----If you dare.

Yesterday I showed a friend the cover of my paranormal romance, The Rook and the Raven due for release February 8, as an e-book by The Wild Rose Press. She took one look and said, “What is a Rook?”

"Who is the Rook," would be more correct. Never-the-less it was a good question.

The Rook and The Raven was my first attempt at writing a paranormal romance.

Vampires, ghosts, shape-shifters, zombies, etc, etc. while quite interesting are overdone and are becoming boring to my taste.  I wanted a fresh idea. A new character. But who? 

If you are a regular reader of my blog, (and I hope you are) you will know that inspiration for my stories and characters often come from my dreams.   One particular dream sticks with me for a several reasons that I won’t go into. But it was from this dream The Rook was born.

Unique and exciting, Roark is unlike any character you have ever experienced before. Only the mysterious, witchy-haired Jamaican clairvoyant, Madame Katanga can give Raven insight into who this intriguing and powerful entity really is:

“You have something to ask Madame Katanga.”

Not a question, but a statement of fact.        

I took a big gulp of air that tasted like grass and herbs and squirmed in my chair.

 “Who is this Rook?

Bronze eye-shadowed lids closed, and she eased back into the chair’s fluffy cushions. A deep sigh shook her heavy bosom like jelly, and the bone-and-alligator tooth necklace resting on them rattled. She spoke a hypnotizing Jamaican melody. The room closed in around me, and I struggled for a deep breath.

“In the higher realm there be an army of guardians called Sentinels who protect all life and keep the universe in balance. The highest of these guardians be the Rook. Him is hand-picked by the Keeper of all-that-is.”

“You mean God?”

“No child. The Keeper, he not the Creator. Him be more like . . . hmm . . . Secretary of Defense. Only the most cunning and wise Sentinel can be the Keeper’s captain, the Rook.”

     Do you have the nerve to experience an unknown character?  If so, download The Rook and The Raven  by R.H. Burkett available February 8^th, from the Wild Rose Press.

 

The Wild Rose Press named Best Publisher of the Year for the 4th year in a row by polling on Preditors & Editors.